Why CDFC supporters crave more flags

[Dogwatcher]

Contributed by Forum Member "Dogwatcher"

This story was written a few years ago now (and has featured on this site previously). But with all the debate about the predictability or otherwise of Centrals making the grand final again, I thought it was relevant.
We still want success, no matter how many flags we wrack up.


It wasn't always Easy Street

by ROB McLEAN

PRIOR to 2000 a conversation between two typical Central District supporters may have gone much like the one from the 1997 soccer film Fever Pitch which went something like this.

Fan 1: What about last season?

Fan 2: What about it?

Fan 1: They were rubbish. They were bloody rubbish.

Fan 2: They weren't that bad.

Fan 1: They were bloody rubbish last year. And they were bloody rubbish the year before. And I don't care if they are top of the league, they'll be bloody rubbish this year, too. And next year. And the year after that. I'm not joking.

Fan 2: I don't know why you come, Frank. Honest I don't.

Fan 1: Well, you live in hope, don't you?

Not any more though.

Being a supporter of the SANFL's 'Pride of the Adelaide Plains' has never been this good.

We've played in three consecutive grand finals for two victories and a solid start to the 2003 season means the Bulldogs, now coached by dogged Roy Laird, will be among the favourites to be there again this year.

Growing up in the heartland of the South Australian Bulldogs wasn't always 'Easy Street' though. Particularly in the 1970s, 80s and early 90s when the 'beloved boys' would make it to the finals only to disappoint yet again.

Jeering opponents called it the "Doggywobbles". This was even worse than the "Collywobbles" because we never even made grand finals.

Joining the big league in 1964, the Doggies played their first final in 1971 (defeating Sturt in the knockout semi-final), they won another final in 1972 but then had to wait until 1994 and 13 finals appearances later before actually winning their third major round match.

As I grew older and more hormonally charged, the chants of "show us yer premierships" became harder and harder to bear.

Then came the ultimate disappointment, actually making a grand final. Allen Stewart's (1995) and then Steve Wright's (1996) Bulldogs failed against a charged up Port Adelaide side, always thirsting for premiership glory, in two consecutive grand finals.

Anguish reigned in those times. A Port supporting friend of mine (strangely there are a few nice people among the baying heathens), who like myself was a student journalist at the time, remembers seeing me at the second of those losses - head in my hands sobbing. Needless to say he steered clear.

After the first loss, I stayed away from university for a week. My absence was not totally the result of the heart breaking defeat. My commitment to the Bulldog cause saw me travelling around 400 kilometres from Mildura where I had been on my first end of season trip with the Elizabeth Eagles. By the time I got home from mourning the non-claiming of the TS. Hill cup in the early hours of Monday morning I had slept for four hours over three days. I was too ill for anything and my friends took it as symptomatic of my disappointment.

As a child I believed that I would play in Central's first premiership - it was not to be. At 16 my career with the Dogs was stalled at the first kick by a coach who couldn't see my true ability. My devotion was such that I never considered transferring to another league club...but that's another story to be told at another time.

Instead, I turned away from becoming a superstar of SANFL stature and concentrated on getting a good education.

In 1997 the Dogs were at it again, making the finals and then losing, hurting their faithful army of soccer chant singing supporters. The disappointment was made more heart-wrenching for me as I was freelancing for the Football Budget, the SANFL's match day publication. After the final siren of the preliminary final I was required to head into the bowels of Football Park to interview the winning coach.

As I stripped off my scarf and guernsey and handed them to my long suffering girlfriend Melanie, my heart grew heavier.

My life source was almost ripped apart when I passed Wright and whispered the dreaded words "bad luck mate". The ferocious response was like an explosion ripping through the subterranean walkway. "It wasn't bloody, bad luck" he more than said. I trudged into the Norwood change rooms and interviewed Peter Rohde, who a week later was a premiership coach.

Finally it happened. The year 2000 and I was living in the country, 250 kilometres from my spiritual home. Peter Jonas was in charge of the new millennium Bulldogs. We reached the 'promised land' and we grasped the cup.

Believe it or not, I cried for the whole of the last quarter. This time the joy overwhelmed me. I hugged everyone in sight (the memory of this moment still makes me teary). My family and Melanie's relatives were all in the crowd, as were so many of my friends and acquaintances from the Northern Suburbs.

Sadly, my long time Bulldogs supporting grandfather had died the spring before and never got to see the premiership. I later stopped off at Pappy's grave site with a newspaper clipping of the match, just for him to read. On that day I believed that heaven existed.

The words of courageous skipper Danny Hulm upon accepting the premiership cup ring loudly in my head to this day.

"I'm so proud of my boys. Who represent the spirit. Who represent the character of the Northern Suburbs. This is for our community. We'll see you all out there tonight to enjoy it. I'd like to say to my boys: I love these boys. They give me all the love back. We put the runs on the board and we are gonna enjoy this. We are a club and we will go on."

He, now tragically departed, understood what it meant to us all. Seeing the boys run around Football Park, the scene of so many drubbings in the past, on their lap of honour was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. I used to play on ovals around Elizabeth with some of those boys, sharing a dream.

For a brief moment I touched the TS Hill Cup as it moved past me, my life was complete.

[Big Phil]

Wonderful piece Rob, wonderful

[Choccies]

Wonderful piece Rob, wonderful

Ditto. Great work DW
Now something has made sense to me. South Adelaides last premiership = 1964, Centrals entry into the SANFL = 1964

Can we blame you guys ??

[Dogwatcher]

Choccies, I've often wondered about that fact myself.

Thanks for the plaudits Choccies and BP.

[Zorro]

Why CDFC supporters crave more flags......cos they're greedy!

Didn't mummy teach you lot how to share.

[BenchedEagle]

Excellent DW. Loved it.

I too was very emotional during that last quarter in 2000. Every chant of Centraaaaaaaaaaals and UUUdogs coming from way deep within the heart and soul of every Dogs supporter there(before the days of the bandwagoners), brought me to tears. Every goal was a celebration of biblical proportions to us. Had to remember the long cold days at Elizabeth Oval watching the Dogs getting pummeled, us younger fans humiliated and laughed at by victoriously departing supporters. How things change...

Those Supporters dont come to Elizabeth anymore!

We do crave more flags, we do because we as Northeners are often maligned as being scum, ferals etc etc. Central winning gives us the pride and confidence to say 'Screw You' Our football team kicks ass! The taunts seem to become water off a ducks back.

I do understand other clubs supporters being frustrated about our success, all i can say is "Come and get us"

[Rik E Boy]

Choccies, I've often wondered about that fact myself.

Thanks for the plaudits Choccies and BP.

Well written Doggy. I had that '2000' feeling that you had when the Cats finally broke through in 2007. Strangely enough, before 2007 it was the Cat supporter in me that was jealous of Central's success, not the Norwood supporter in me. At least I had seen the Redlegs win flags and against Port believe me there is nothing better.

regards,

REB